The Good Wife
by Cortana Bennet
Summary: Three years into their marriage, Hermione is trying to be perfect in all ways. And she feels like her performance is mediocre at best. DHr, obviously AU.


_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine; they belong to JKR. I merely entertain myself with them every once in awhile. _

_A/N: This is my first piece of fanfiction I have published. I write often, but have never had the desire to post anything up. This came to me one night, and I popped it out the next day. I am interested and appreciative of feedback._

_A/N: Edited for a stupid misspelling of poor Hermione's name.  
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It was dark in the room when Hermione slipped quietly in, and quickly cuddled under the covers. She thought perhaps he was already asleep, though the lack of soft snores made her question that assumption. She was tired. Her body felt the fatigue of the day, but she had no one to blame but herself. If she would just come to bed at a normal time, she wouldn't be so blasted tired, and she knew her husband deserved some one on one time.

She sighed softly. But there was so much to do. She had just finished folding and stuffing Rosemary's diapers, and though she could have found a few other things to do, instead she picked up a stray toy dragon and the now-not-missing shoe of William's, and placed them outside his bedroom door. She stood outside Rosemary's door for a moment, listening, before tip-toeing into her bedroom, slipping off her sweatshirt as she walked to the bed.

Now, Hermione lay in the dark, curled up on her side, she continued to think of all the things that needed to be done. Chores to be completed, playdates to attend, errands to run, teas to coordinate, correspondence to write. And with two children nonetheless. There was no doubt that Draco would have been happy, even thrilled, to keep a house-elf around on a permanent basis, but Hermione just could not stomach it. She fully admitted that she needed help keeping up this great big home, and agreed to have a house elf come in three times a week to clean, but other than that, it was Hermione's job. If she was not working, she wasn't going to sit around and order other people, or in this case, beings around. Her job was to be a mother and housewife (she did shudder at the term), and she was going to do it well.

She was thankful for the help, and couldn't imagine trying to keep this house, along with her in-laws home clean, and ready for guests. Hermione could not, and would not, complain. When she said yes to Draco, it meant a new life for her, literally. Apparently being a Malfoy was more than just inheriting a name. There were responsibilities that she had only read about in Regency-style novels. She had no idea the amount of invitations she would receive to the most mundane of events, and though Hermione had never considered herself rude, definitions for tact and discretion had to be retaught and learned.

Since she married the man lying next to her three short years ago, life had most definitely changed. The one component that had remained steady throughout however was their passion for each other. It could not be denied that even at Hogwarts, even while hurling insults at one another, there was a fire. Mutual hatred can be powerful and deep, and passion does not have to mean true love. For Hermione and Draco, they ended up experiencing both spectrums of that intensity. After school, after the war, when they ended up meeting, typically through parties of mutual friends, the obligatory name-calling had stopped, and they learned to bicker through wits. Unbeknownst to both, it was the kindling of a new passion, a new fire, where they gained reciprocal, though reluctant respect for each other.

And when their friends had enough of these heated, and often over their heads, "discussions," these so-called friends baled on Draco and Hermione, leaving the two to fend for themselves. Until one day, after a one too many glasses of wine, arguing over Muggle literature, and not wanting to leave or be left feeling pent up and frustrated, Hermione leaned over and kissed Draco squarely on the mouth.

All that other "passion," it was like calling a spark from a match a wildfire. Like a raindrop being a flood. They were both appropriate precursors, but nothing compared to full version.

It was all downhill, or uphill, depending on how you looked it, from there. Hermione had never felt so alive as when she was with Draco, in all ways. He ignited her body, her mind, her soul. She felt beautiful and loved and on fire, only to be cooled by his touch. It was amazing part of her life that continued even after they were married. Then, there was the newfound excitement of being married, of announcing herself as Draco's "wife," of creating themselves as a couple. It was lovely and precious, and became even more perfect as Hermione and Draco found out they were about to become parents.

Even while she was pregnant and after William was born, their love increased, their passion grew and changed, but only in a good ways. It was as if having a child bonded them even more. They were not just a couple, but now a family. Their lovemaking was wrapped in a layer of preciousness because they knew that out of that love came their first child.

But somewhere along the way, maybe when she found out she was pregnant again, it changed. She still could not imagine her life without him, and all those prenatal and postnatal hormones would act up, causing her to burst into tears at completely preposterous daydreams that turned into nightmares of losing her husband. She loved him with all her heart, and when he walked in the room, and met her eyes, her heart still hitched.

But the physical passion of their relationship seemed to have dissipated, leaving her frustrated, not only physically but also mentally. Hermione's body betrayed her, and due to her breastfeeding Rosemary, as much as she mentally wanted to enjoy sex with her husband, she physically did not. He knew exactly what to do to prepare her, and yet her body refused to comply. It was maddeningly frustrating to know you should make yourself available to your husband, and want to enjoy the act of intercourse, and yet at the same time, want nothing to do with the entire act because it had started feeling like work, instead of an pleasurable way to bond.

Hermione sighed. It was an awful cycle, exacerbated by her being tired and over-thinking the whole bloody thing. That was part of the problem. She worked herself so up over wanting to be the perfect wife, and wanting to capture that passionate part of their life that seemed to have been lost, that she became more anxious and nervous about the whole situation, and only created more problems for herself.

She rolled over onto her other side, facing Draco in the dark, tucking a hand under her pillow, and watched him in the dim light of the room. One arm was thrown over his head, laying on the pillow, and the other rested outside the covers, on his chest. She could make out the sharp and contoured angles of his face, yet this was when she loved watching him the most. Because in sleep, he was relaxed, the harsh lines banished from his face. Thankfully, besides business dealings, he rarely portrayed that cold, hard, 'I-take-no-prisoners' expression. He was still more closed off than she, but Hermione was well-aware that she had been raised in a loving family, that literally embraced physical affection. Draco had not been so lucky, and though a physical aspect had been a part of his family, it was not one that any child should have to go through.

Hermione smiled in the dark thinking of the years she had spent getting him to accept the frequent hugs and touches that she gave, that had little to do with a sex. Hand holding, quick hugs, gentle touches were all something Draco had shied away from, and stiffened upon contact, and yet now, he was often the first to initiate such affection especially with his children. He thought nothing of taking the baby from her after she had finished nursing, and showering Rosemary with baby kisses. Or tucking his son into bed, holding William's hand while they read a book. It was a beautiful transformation, and she felt blessed, and proud, to have been a part of it.

If only she could translate some of that physicalness to them, without her being afraid of… Hermione's thought trailed off, as if she had been speaking and had an epiphany. She realized she was just afraid of rejection. Everything was so different now, even more so than after William was born, including her body and her wants.

As she rolled back over, her back to Draco, she sighed again, vowing to just get over herself, and have a fresh start tomorrow.

"Hermione, what is wrong? You keep sighing."

Draco's voice startled her, and she shook slightly, but did not move to face him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

She felt the mattress shift as he turned toward her.

"You didn't. And you didn't answer my question."

Draco's voice had an edge to it, that she knew came from her avoiding the question. But she could also hear concern, and she felt slightly guilty when she said,

"Oh. Nothing is wrong."

"Hermione. You are a terrible liar, and I can't even see your face. But I can practically hear your brain working."

She huffed as she rolled onto her back, and said testily, "Fine. I'm just tired and can't sleep. _Thinking _about too many things."

She glanced over at her husband, who was propped up on one elbow. Even in the unlit room, she could see his face, and it was suspiciously blank, as if he knew she still was being less than truthful. But his next question did not call her out on that.

"What kind of things?"

Hermione, partially thankful for the change in direction, rapidly began listing off her to-do's, her left hand held up in the air, while the right one pointed to each finger on the other as she kept tally.

"Well, I have Ginny's baby shower tomorrow, and the house elves can't come and clean until 11am, which wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference but William decided that flying that stupid broom you gave him around the house holding his milk and snack was a good idea, so there's bits of peanut butter and milk all over the house. And the annual fundraiser for EMOS, which although is definitely a worthy cause, is a major pain in my ass to organize because they all think I should do things like your mother did. And William needs a haircut, and Rosemary is overdue for her three month checkup, and Harry has been trying to get me to organize a—"

Draco cut her off by placing a hand, not so gently, over her mouth.

With eyebrows raised, he said quietly, "I get it. You're busy." He looked down, shaking his head, "Too busy."

Then he turned back to her saying, "But I still don't think that was what you were thinking about."

She looked up at him, her eyes large and she felt her face start to crumble. It was hard when he was always so observant…and damn persistent.

"Now why are you crying?" His voice was gentle, as if he were talking to a small child.

"I don't know," she gulped at him, trying to hold back the flood of tears.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her again, and gently pulled her into a sitting position.

"Somehow I don't believe that."

Hermione moved her feet so she sat cross-legged, and began pulling at the florally pattern of her sleep pants, fidgeting. She continued to look down at her legs, even when soft light permeated the room, illuminating Draco, who was echoing Hermione's position.

"Mia. Talk to me." Hermione glanced up at Draco, touched by the concern in his voice. "How can I make it better, if I don't know what the problem is."

"But that's the problem. It's not you—it's me."

"What—"

Hermione quickly started talking, cutting him off.

"Remember this afternoon?" At his initially blank look, she continued, "In the hall, when the children were napping? You were kissing me?"

It had been early afternoon, and she had just put Rosemary down, and was standing in the hallway, adjusting her blouse from it's war with Rosemary's hands while the baby nursed, and pulling her hair off her neck, when Draco wrapped his arms around her, pushing her slightly into the wall. He must have come out of William's room, the carpet muffling his steps, and therefore startling Hermione, who was already distracted. Her hands dropped, and the mass of hair she had been holding up fell back around her shoulders. Draco swept it over one shoulder, and began kissing her neck, his hands working their way under her shirt.

Hermione remembered inwardly sighing, knowing all the things she needed to be doing during these precious few hours that the babies slept. And then she sighed to herself again, hating herself for thinking that, instead of enjoying her husband's attentions. He had continued his ministrations for a few minutes, before turning her around, slowly moving his mouth from her neck up to her mouth. Hermione willed herself to focus and let her body be turned on by Draco's hands and mouth. In between kisses, he whispered, "Lest the little one escape from his bedroom, perhaps we should remove ourselves to our room."

Hermione had grappled for something to say, and stupidly had just said, "Ok. Sure."

He had stopped all movement, his hands stilled on her hips, his mouth pulled off her jaw, and she had watched his eyes narrow, ever so slightly. "Sure?" he repeated, incredulously, as if he couldn't believe she would be so blasé about the act of intercourse.

And being Hermione, she just said the first thing that came to mind. "Sure. I mean, if you want to have sex, then ok, we can, and…"

She had trailed off as his hands came off her waist, and pushed against the wall on either side of her head. His eyes narrowed even further, and his lips which just moments ago had been caressing her skin, tightened into a thin line.

"If you are not interested, just say so."

Hermione hesitated, before saying, "Draco, I didn't say that. I just—"

"But you didn't say you were either. I get it. You're just too busy for your husband. I'll find something else to do." And with a graceful turn of his heel, he stalked off, looking thunderously composed.

"Yes." Draco spoke slowly, and Hermione wondered if he had a clue. He had been angry at her response to him, and stormed off, finding a beer and the garden to cool off. Draco was like lighting a firework. A slow burn, but a massive and breathtaking explosion, and then when the smoke cleared, it was as if it had never occurred—clear skies once again. When she came to find him an hour later, he was reading and on his third beer, and an acted as if he had not just been furious hours before.

"I am trying to be good at everything, a mother, a socialite…a wife, and I think I am failing." She sucked in a stilted breath, trying not to cry, and continued before he could speak.

"I am not sure what to do. I know what you want from me. And so although I am not…" Hermione paused, searching for the right word. "I am having difficulty wanting what you want, but I am willing to be a willing partner, for you."

She looked up at Draco, who was staring at her with a look of mild confusion, a strange look for someone who always appeared in-the-know, even when he was completely clueless.

"Mia, what does this have to do with what happened this afternoon?"

Hermione was baffled. He truly did not understand? Were even the brightest of men complete dolts when it came to women?

"Uh, you got mad at me because we didn't have sex?"

Draco shook his head. "No, no. I am just tired of you being too busy for me, for us. And I was frustrated," he raised an eyebrow at her, "obviously in more ways than one."

Hermione threw her arms up in frustration. "But I didn't say no. It's not my fault!"

"Hermione, your body language said it all. You were miles away."

She sighed, looking down at her pants, and once again picking at the fabric nervously. She knew he was right, at least partially.

"This is the problem." She tucked her hands under her legs, in order to not look so agitated, and glanced up at her husband.

"Draco, don't you remember with William, while I was breastfeeding, I was…less than aroused?" She blushed, and then blushed again for blushing. It wasn't that she was embarrassed about the subject, but Hermione was not one to point out her shortcomings, and currently, this was definitely a shortcoming.

"Vaguely. Mia, we didn't sleep for about 3 months, and after that, for months, it was sporadic. I always attributed any lack of sexual interest to being exhausted, on both our sides." He shuddered in what Hermione could only imagine was remembrance of their first child's colicky nature.

"Valid point. But all my reading says that the hormones to keep me lactating, turn down my sexual inclinations, big time. That combined with being more tired, lead me to not be overly interested. But then, I feel bad because I know I should make myself available for you, and attempt to participate, but I know that after sex, I just hurt, physically, and this of course, makes me nervous about the whole thing, even beforehand, which just makes it worse, and…"

She stopped, after finally checking in with Draco, and seeing his completely dumbfounded expression.

"No."

She drew back slightly at his tone, and change in demeanor. His look had hardened and Hermione was afraid he was angry at her.

"I'm sorry. I just…Well, you asked!" She threw out the last bit in self-defense. He wanted her to talk about it, and now he was mad?

"I'm not mad. Well, I am, but not at you. Not really. But, you are overworked, and you are not even working! I thought staying at home with the kids would be less stressful."

Hermione looked at him with eyebrows raised, practically into her hair.

"Are you kidding? It's a full-time job just to be a Malfoy wife, apparently. I honestly have no idea how your mother did it and looked so good. I get it done, but feel, and look, haggard."

Draco gave a small amused smile. "Mother demanded help. The kind you refuse every time I attempt to bring it up."

"Forget it Draco. I am not having a nanny for the babies. Not if I'm home. Simple as that. I would rather be a real and good mother to them, than host the perfect garden party. Which reminds me that I forgot to get the invitations out for—"

She was cut off by Draco's calloused fingertips pressed up against her mouth.

"This is what I am talking about. What exactly are you doing that you believe is required of you as my wife?"

Hermione stared at him, in complete disbelief. Did he not know? She had always just assumed he received the same charmed missives she had upon their engagement. The pages and pages detailing parties that were to be hosted, charity events that were to be organized and sponsored, society events that were required to be attended.

She swiveled around, pulling the drawer to her nightstand open, a bit harshly, and pulled out the letter that had arrived precisely two hours after their engagement had been formally announced. It was worn—the creases sharp, yet smooth from being opened and closed multiple times. Without opening it, she thrust it in his face.

"This. This is why I do what I do." Hermione felt unsettled, and frustrated that the conversation was off-topic. It was hard enough to bring up this subject as it was, and now they were back to her "Malfoy wife responsibilities," as she called them.

Draco eyed it suspiciously as he took it from her hand, but did not hesitate opening it. He began reading it aloud, though to himself.

"To my future daughter-in-law. If you are receiving this letter, it is only because I have passed on, and therefore will not be able to offer my congratulations and pleasure as to my dearest son's engagement. I am sure you are a lovely woman, whose bloodlines will only enhance the Malfoy name, and though I assume you are high enough in society to understand the complexities associated with everything that encompasses marrying into such a powerful and well-connected family, I will endeavor to spell out all the requirements the wife of Draco Malfoy will entail."

Draco stopped reading, glancing up at Hermione.

"Don't you want to read the rest? My organizational skills look quite sloppy in comparison to her beautifully constructed calendars and breakdown of events by date, type, importance, money, and involvement."

She sounded bitter, and she was, a bit. She had never had anyone to vent to this about, and she never brought it up to Draco, because she stupidly assumed he knew all of this. And it was stupid. He was male, the patriarch. Why would he know, or need to know, who not to sit next to Mrs. Smelting, or what was the customary monetary gift to give to the University's scholarship fund.

He flipped through the pages, skimming the text, as Hermione continued her frustrated diatribe.

"Or perhaps you would like to continue on, to read where she lays out how I should raise our children, and to which families it would be best if we not associate with, and how I should not concern myself if my husband takes a lover, as this is the custom among Malfoy men…"

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. It was not as if she believed it, and besides the society requirements, Hermione considered the rest of the "information" a load of bollocks.

"Mia. Hermione." His voice was thick, and she could only remember a handful of times he sounded like that. Most recently was when Rosemary was born.

She looked up at him, silent, and his eyes looked…distressed.

"You know that is not true." It was a statement, yet there was a question in there. He wanted her to answer, but Hermione stayed silent, and just nodded her head.

He dropped the letter, and grabbed her face, cradling her cheeks between his hands.

"It's not. I could care less what my father, and his father, did. I love you. Only you. I want no one but you."

Hermione nodded again, leaning her face into one of his palms, as a single tear slid down her face.

"I know. I do. I never doubted you, but it was not easy reading that."

Draco wiped the trail left by the tear away with his fingers, and then picked up the letter again, glaring at it, as if he could destroy it with a look. As if annoyed that he had not, he sharply turned to his nightstand and grabbed his wand, starting to speak a spell as he turned back.

"Incen—"

Hermione cut him off, knowing it was pointless. "Don't bother. It won't work."

"What? Of course it will. Incendio!"

At Draco's overly dramatic pronouncement, and his disbelief, she rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over chest. She watched as the parchment began burning, and as Draco smirked at her, clearly boasting.

She shrugged, and said simply, "Just wait."

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly, but he turned back to the paper, and they both watched as it burned, until the last ember died. And just as the tiny spark died out, Draco turned to Hermione, only to look back down at his hand, as a paper reappeared in it.

"What the…"

"Always happens. I hate to say, 'I told you so,' but…" She smirked at him, mimicking his earlier expression to her.

"Well then don't." Draco had a mildly petulant expression, specifically from being wrong, which Hermione knew he hated. He turned his eyes back to the letter he was still holding, and looked at it with some amount of awe.

"No one ever realized how bright Mother was. Charmed to replicate upon destruction." He tapped the now folded parchment upon his leg. "And when did you receive this?"

Without hesitation Hermione said, "March 15th—Ides of March, ironically enough."

"How did you remember that?" Draco sounded amazed.

"It was the day our engagement was formally announced in The Prophet." She looked up to see Draco trying to contain a grin. "What? I wanted to see it. I was proud of being engaged to you."

She smiled softly thinking of it, but then shook her head thinking of the actual day.

"But knowing it was going in The Prophet, I also wanted to make sure it was in there correctly. Regardless, as I was reading it, an owl brought me this note from your mother. I thought perhaps a lawyer had sent it, but upon reflection, I believe she had an elaborate charm to recognize when our engagement was formally announced, via the papers, and the charm must have looked for your name, and the name of whomever you were marrying."

Draco continued to tap the letter against his leg, staring at Hermione, with an unreadable expression. Hermione decided to just wait for him to talk.

"Why are you doing all of these things?"

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose, holding it for a moment, taking the time to consider her response, before she slowly exhaled through her mouth. Because I did not want to disappoint you, was what she wanted to shout. Because I was scared not to. Because I wanted to make you proud.

Instead, she simply said, "The Malfoy name is very important, and although I obviously do not agree with your parents beliefs and philosophies, many of the functions they attended, contributed to, and so forth, were important. I did not want organizations they supported, no matter your parents true purpose, to lose funding and support. Honestly, I have always wanted to make a difference, and I did not have the resources available to me. Now I do. So, I use these mundane society events to gain leverage, promises of commitment, and donations for the agendas I think worthy of our time and money."

Hermione looked up at him and explained a bit further. "Don't think that I do everything your mother laid out. Some functions are completely pointless for me. The flower club? Please. And some of the charitable organizations were bogus, and I refused to support them."

She paused, her thoughts taking a different tangent. "Draco, perhaps you didn't realize, but as soon as we were engaged, I began receiving a flood of invitations to parties and social events, from people whom I had never met, and people whom never spoke a word to me in school. I was way out of my league, and the women were rather…obvious…in pointing that out to me. And no one tells me what I can and cannot do, and so I rose to the challenge. I host the most elegant dinner parties, and know whom to invite to small gatherings, and can organize fundraisers that will raise more money than expected. And now, those women, they have nothing to say."

Her eyes glittered with passion and emotion, a host of feelings roaring through her, having finally been allowed to spill it all.

Draco was silent for a moment. "I didn't realize it was like that. I mean, I knew what you were doing-at least some of it. But I thought you wanted to. I can't believe I never even noticed. I feel quite…stupid."

He was rambling, and Hermione let him. She reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers. "Don't feel bad. I'm not upset about what I do. I consider it part of my job as your wife. If I was that upset, I would have said something, or just not done it. I don't get hexed if I don't do something, but I will admit," she added with a chuckle, "whenever I do something a bit different from how she laid out, I wait in anticipation for something to happen."

Draco gave a small forced smile, and Hermione could tell he was still bothered by this whole thing. She had not meant for him to be disturbed by it. She mentally kicked herself for even giving the letter to him.

"Mia, don't do that. I know you think you should not have even told me about this. But I am glad you did. We just need to talk about your commitments, and narrow down your responsibilities. You don't have to do it all. I own a company. I can hire you a personal assistant. And don't give me that look."

Hermione was wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Draco squeezed her hand, his voice becoming more hard, and businesslike.

"Hon, this is not up for debate. I am taking tomorrow off, and we are going through everything you are doing, and we are reprioritizing. I don't need you doing all these…things…for the family name. Screw the family name. I just want you sane and happy, and functioning normally, so I can spend quality time with you, without you thinking about, or doing, a million other things."

Hermione lowered her head, her chest becoming tight with her emotion, and tears began to stream down her face, hitting their clasped hands in big wet drops.

"Hermione, are you ok with this?"

She nodded jerkily.

"Then why are you crying?"

Her words coming in bursts she said, "Because you are right. And…it's a relief to tell you all this. And a relief to have support, and a relief to think that it might get a little easier."

Draco shook his head at her, gently admonishing her. "You silly girl. You should have told me all of this months, no, years ago. I wish you had."

As the tears continued to fall, he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and she placed her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and they leaned back into the pillows. Draco dimmed the lights, letting her spill her months of worry and fatigue and anxiety through the tears. As her labored breathing returned to normalcy, she began to feel a weight lifted off her. She felt lighter, both physically and mentally, and almost intoxicated with a sense of freedom.

"Feeling better?"

Draco spoke in the dark, surprising her a little, though she knew he was still awake from the small circles he had been rubbing on her back.

She nodded against his chest. "Thank you. And I am sorry. I just wanted to be a good wife."

"You are a good wife Mia. Clearly a little stressed and unable to delegate, but a good wife nonetheless. And the only thing that can make you better is for you to be happy and more relaxed. Something we are going to take care of tomorrow."

She smiled at his domineering attitude, and was happy for it. She needed someone to take control--to help her see what was really important. Having Draco take the reins and lead was a source of solace, and yet exciting.

Feeling that energy and peace run through her, Hermione thought perhaps there was one area where she could wield some power. She flipped her leg over his chest and straddled him, leaning down to kiss him fully. When she pulled away, she held her face inches from his and said simply,

"Your good wife is in need of some attention from her good husband. Can you help?"


End file.
